


Nightmares and Thermodynamic Equilibrium

by mood



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 04:43:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14180904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mood/pseuds/mood
Summary: The boys suffer from nightmares and from being touch starved.





	Nightmares and Thermodynamic Equilibrium

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if there are mistakes, it is late!! hope you enjoy!

Edward and Jonathan had a lot in common: they both were a part of Gotham’s notorious Rogue Gallery, they both had been recently arrested, they shared a cell, and they both suffered from chronic nightmares. Jonathan’s nightmares plagued him less commonly than Edward’s due to the fact that one actually has to sleep in order to have a nightmare, otherwise it would be classified as a hallucination. Such hallucinations were, in fact, common for the tall man, but were quite foreign to Edward, and so they did not share that commonality. 

 

But such claims are beside the point.

 

… 

 

Jonathan was placed back in his familiar cell at Arkham after he had been caught testing out his latest toxin. He didn’t mind though, the man saw Arkham as a vacation, a place to practice his skills without repercussions. The guards never cared if an inmate clawed their eyes out because they were sure that their shadow was going to kill them, nor did they mind when a patient hung himself in his cell because he trying to escape the words of his dead mother. Honestly, each time an inmate was sent to the infirmary or to the morgue, the guards were relieved for it meant there was one less person to watch. The ease on their workload was welcomed, but the guards were rightfully wary of Jonathan. Although they never had substantial evidence to prove it was his doing, they knew it was the emaciated man who drove their patients further into insanity. And so, by his third stay at Arkham, the guards had stopped giving Jonathan cellmates. They didn’t mind what Jonathan did during the day, but the screams that came from his cellmates late at night were very annoying and downright unsettling.

 

This was the reason that Jonathan was surprised when, a week into his incarceration, two guards entered his cell with another patient. 

 

“Hey Scarecrow, you need to step it up. Too many inmates, not enough beds. You actually get a cellmate for once.”

Jonathan said nothing, choosing instead to silently study the sight before him. The guards he recognized, the one who spoke was boring, but the guard with him was much more exciting to Jon for that man was curiously afraid of snails. But he was not the center of Jonathan’s focus, no, that role was currently occupied by the redheaded inmate. 

 

Edward Nygma,  _ The Riddler _ . Jonathan had seen him before but paid very little attention to him. The man always seemed to be interested in hacking something or building a death trap, nothing Jon cared for. He did, however, appreciate the efforts Nygma made to make Gotham smarter. That appreciation did not go far enough to warrant a meeting between the two rogues though, whenever Jonathan saw him on the news, he found the green clad man to be annoyingly theatrical. Right now, however, the man was neither theatrical or dressed in his signature colour. His typical styled hair was mussed, his jumpsuit clashed with his hair, a purple bruise peeked out from the collar of his shirt, and he looked worn down. Much to Jon’s own curiosity, he found that Edward still looked quite nice in this state. Realizing the thought was one he would have to dissect later, Jonathan turned his attention back toward the book in his hands.

 

“I betcha five bucks Scarecrow will kill him by lunch tomorrow.”

 

“Like hell, Nygma’s gonna bore him to death in an hour.” The two guards laughed as they locked the cell and walked back to their post.

 

… 

 

Edward and Jonathan got along just fine. Well, they got along fine enough that neither had killed the other. Yet. Few conversations were held between the two, both choosing to keep to themselves and their books. Jonathan decided the only reason he had yet to try and dissect Edward’s mind was because the other was less theatrical than expected, and because he had yet to try to “bore him to death” as the guard had predicted. In fact, Jonathan found that the majority of what Edward said was quite interesting. Actually, Jonathan found Edward to be quite interesting. Perhaps this was the reason that he had left Edward alone, Jonathan was merely studying him. Much to the guards dismay such studies found him focusing more on Edward and less on terrorizing the other patients, but Jonathan didn’t care. He was too enraptured by how easily Edward could persuade and influence other inmates with just a few words, by the way Edward’s hands subtly shook when he was nervous, by how much care Edward put into his appearance despite being at an asylum, and by how different Edward was when not in public. His theatrics were set aside, he devoured any and all books in their cell, and he often bit his lip when scribbling at his notepad. 

 

Jonathan decided he had only noticed such things because Edward had piqued his interest. Yes, he must be bored and this was something new to study. That was all.

 

… 

 

The room around him was dark and cold. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stay warm. He was never warm. Jonathan looked around. He was in the church, he could see the altar and the broken pews. He looked up. There they were. The crows. A hundred eyes stared down at him. He heard a door lock behind him. 

 

“Granny please let me out. I’m sorry.” 

 

The only response was the crows shuffling around on the rotting rafters. Jonathan cowered, trying to hide from them. If he stayed low and small, they might not attack.

 

“Stand up straight boy.” He heard his grandmother. She was behind the door. She wouldn’t open it.

 

“Granny please. Please let me out.”

 

“Stand up straight.” He did as he was told. 

 

The crows weren’t happy with the movement. He heard the rustling feathers as the crows  descended. Jonathan cowered, bringing his hands up to his face. He felt them attack, ripping at the skin on his back. He tried to swat them but they only attacked his arms. More birds flew down. Hards beaks pulled and pecked at him, at his neck, his back, his arms, and oh god did it hurt. He fell to his knees and tried to cover his face.

“Granny please. Please. Please let me out, Granny let me out.” He choked sobs fell on deaf ears. 

Sharp talons dug into his shoulder. He moved away, trying to reach the pews. He could hide under them.

 

“Jonathan.” 

 

“Let me out. I’m sorry Granny, please just let me out.”

 

“Jonathan!”

 

Jonathan looked around. Gone were the crows, the broken pews, the rotting rafters. Instead there was a pair of blue eyes looking at him. Was that concern in them? Jonathan blinked. He was back in his cell and Edward was in front of him.

 

“You were having a nightmare.” 

 

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Jonathan said nothing and just stared at Edward. 

 

“What can I do?”

 

“What?”

 

“Is there anything I can do to help? To, uh, calm you down or take your mind off things?”

 

“Could you… could you just talk?”

 

“Talk? Uh, sure. About what?”

 

“Anything.”

 

Jonathan wasn’t sure why Edward was so willing to help him, but at the time he didn’t mind. It was a lot easier to just focus on Edward’s voice as he spoke about his day. It was calming. Jonathan felt… safe. 

 

… 

 

A few sleepless nights later found Jonathan in a predicament. Across the cell, Edward was asleep. And obviously having a nightmare. Jonathan knew that he should return the courtesy that Edward had shown him and offer to help after waking him up, but what could he do? He doubted that Edward would want Jon to talk, and even if he did, what would he talk about? No, this was a bad idea. And yet here he was, sitting on the edge of Edward’s bed, hand poised just above the restless man’s shoulder. Quite a bad idea. Edward stirred, making a pitiful noise as he did so. Although he often enjoyed such sounds, Jonathan decided it was time to wake him up. 

 

“Edward.” He said, shaking his shoulder. 

 

The ginger did not wake, instead he shifted and grimaced. 

 

“Edward.” Jonathan repeated.

 

Once more the man stirred, but this time his eyes opened. 

 

“You were having a nightmare. What can I do?” Jon said, echoing Edward’s words from the other night. 

 

Edward looked around blearily before bringing his shaking hands up to rub his eyes. When he finally he fixed his gaze on Jonathan, Edward furrowed his brow and tilted his head.

 

“What?”

 

“You did the same for me when I had a nightmare. I’m offering my help. What can I do?”

 

“Could you sit with me.”

 

“I already am.”

 

“I mean, closer.”

 

Edward sat with his back against the wall and patted the space beside him. Jonathan moved and sat with him. Neither spoke or moved for quite some time, and Jonathan began to wonder if Edward had fallen asleep once more. Was he free to go back to his own bed? Just as Jonathan began debating whether or not to leave, Edward moved and rested his head on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan stiffened but stayed where he was. He listened and relaxed as he heard Edward’s breathing become softer. This was certainly different but Jonathan realized he enjoyed the contact. It was comforting.

 

… 

 

It soon became a routine. Whenever a nightmare found the two sitting together on one of their beds, they sat together with Edward leaning against Jonathan. If Jonathan was the one who had had a nightmare, Edward would talk about anything he could think of and Jon would listen. If Edward had a nightmare, the two would sit in a comfortable silence.

 

In the daytime, neither mentioned the nightmares or their actions. They did, however, talk more. Jonathan found that Edward was indeed as smart as he claimed to be, though he wouldn’t inflate the man’s ego further by admitting that. Whenever Jonathan spoke about chemistry, fear, or his toxins, Edward would listen and ask questions, sometimes even giving his own opinions on the topics. Jonathan, in turn, answered every riddle sent his way, although a few had taken several hours to figure out. Still, the two began to thoroughly enjoy each other’s company.

 

… 

 

Jonathan learned that Edward and him had a few more things in common: they both were touch starved, they both slept easier when with another person, and they both were terrible at maintaining a normal body temperature. Likely due to his awful immune system, poor diet, general unhealthy lifestyle, and the multitude of toxins he had tested on himself, Jonathan was always cold. The scratchy blankets provided by Arkham were unsurprisingly useless in helping him stay warm, Jonathan believed he would have more luck with a sheet of cardboard than those threadbare excuses. Edward, on the other hand, was the human version of a space heater. No matter how cold Jonathan was, Edward would always complain of the unbearable heat that plagued their cell. It was only when the two sat together that they found they would reach a thermodynamic equilibrium. 

 

The two soon found themselves sitting together on nights that they didn’t have nightmares. Sometimes they would talk and other times they would stay silent, but they always sat together. They agreed it was only for the equilibrium, Jonathan would be warmed up and Edward would be cooled down. Eventually, they agreed that more contact would be better for the equilibrium, resulting in them lying in bed together each night. Their conversations often continued while they were tangled together, Jonathan’s arms around Edward, Edward’s head resting on Jon’s chest. It was only a few days later when they agreed it would be much easier to sleep in the same bed and only return to their own beds when the lights came on. They both quite enjoyed the arrangement, though neither would voice their thoughts on it.

 

Jonathan couldn’t remember when they both stopped saying it was for the equilibrium, nor could he remember the last time he had slept alone, but he didn’t mind. He was warm, he was sleeping more often, and he found that he was actually content. It was nice.

 


End file.
